


One Flesh

by misura



Category: Desperate Romantics
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24589564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Millais navigates the dangerous waters between husband and wife.
Relationships: John Everett Millais/Effie, John Everett Millais/John Ruskin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3
Collections: Small Fandoms Fest





	One Flesh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunsetdawn20](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetdawn20/gifts).



> prompt: _Millais/Ruskin, how does Effie react when she finds out about them?_

Effie stares at him, her hands clenching in her lap, and John swallows. Truth, art and virtue: these are the precepts on which he has always endeavored to live his life.

He does see the value in discretion, of course, understands why even a man as great as Mr Ruskin might not wish to have his sexual preferences known to the public at large.

"I - " he says, feeling awkward. "You will keep this a secret, will you not?"

"A secret?" Effie's voice rises. "That my own husband, who it seems cannot bear to - "

 _But I can bear,_ John wants to say. _Gladly._ What he cannot bear is the idea of never touching her again, never having her permit him to travel again to these strange and secret lands that are at the core of married bliss - for most couples, at any rate.

"You must see, it's a fair enough arrangement, in its way," he says, trying for Reason. "The two of you - " And the one of him. It's rather awing, when he thinks of it like that. Effie is beautiful and loving and warm, and Ruskin is Ruskin.

"Oh, John," Effie says, shaking her head. "My sweet, innocent John."

John feels this is, perhaps, not an indication of the understanding he sought to engender but then she kisses him, and he decides that it can wait.

"You told my wife," Ruskin says. His voice is neutral, yet John detects a hint of a frown, a furrowed brow about to happen. (It's his artist's eye.) "My wife."

 _I could have told Fred,_ John thinks. _Or Gabriel._ Good fellows, the both of them, but prone to bouts of indiscretion, from time to time. "Yes," he says, "Sir."

Ruskin's expression darkens, like the sun concealed by clouds. "Would you see me ruined?"

"I'm sure she won't tell," John says. He is sure, almost. "And I felt it wrong to conceal such a thing from her, given - given the circumstances."

"She is pursuing a divorce," Ruskin says.

 _You did not fulfill the duties you solemnly swore to fulfill,_ John thinks: as close as he can bring himself to criticize. "I am aware," he says.

Ruskin shakes his head. "If she goes public with this - "

"I'm sure that she would not wish to see you ruined," John says. "Sir. After all, you have been husband and wife for many years. You must love her, and she you."

Ruskin stares at him as if John has suggested he no longer wishes to be an associate of the Academy.

I _love her_ , John almost says, but one cannot get acquainted with Shakespeare without learning something of human nature and the ease with which misunderstandings may be born and grow into towering calumnities. "Sir. If you feel I acted wrongly, I can only offer you my most humble apologies."

Ruskin sighs. "I suppose the damage has already been done. Little use in crying over spilled milk."

It is not, quite, the understanding John has hoped for, but he supposes it's better than having Ruskin angry with him, or (worse) forbidding him from seeing Effie again, or (worst of all) breaking things off between them.

"Yours is a very innocent nature, is it not?" Ruskin says, sounding equal parts fond and resigned. "Poor, sweet John Millais." He sounds like Gabriel, a little, which is not a comparison John much cares for.

Ruskin kisses him before he can voice an objection, though, and John decides to let it go.

That is not the end of the matter, however, much as John might have hoped. It seems strange, that simple knowledge should have such an effect, though on reflection, John supposes he ought to know well enough: he's seen Maniac fly into a rage often enough at one revelation or another, changing an otherwise congenial occasion into a bitter and rather violent argument.

"So how do you - " Effie starts asking, then stops. "I'm sorry. It's just - one hears such stories."

John has never heard a single story. Even Gabriel, whom he has come to think of as an endless fount of knowledge on matters of debauchery, seems to have never succumbed to this particular form of vice.

"It's quite nice, really," he reasures Effie, as her expression seems to suggest she is worried. "Not - not at all uncomfortable or demeaning or painful."

"Oh," Effie says. She sounds a little relieved. John mentally pats himself on the back for a cape well navigated, for doing his small part in furthering the public understanding.

"Truly, I do not mind it at all," John says, hoping to close the subject once and for all.

As Effie resumes kissing him, John feels he has been successful yet again. It's a marvel, he thinks, how quickly he's picked up the knack of conversing with women even under the most shockingly intimate of occasions.

"So have you and my wife - " Ruskin begins, and John experiences a moment of deja-vu, followed by an overwhelming sense of affection for these two people, each of them so dear to him in their own way, and so alike - made for one another, he would say, as proven by their marriage.

He considers voicing this opinion. It might be considered the sacred duty of any man, to effect a reconciliation between husband and wife when one finds oneself in a position to do so.

"Sir?" If Ruskin were to ask, John would happily leap into action. Effie is a wonderful person, entirely deserving of a man as great as Ruskin.

"You have - embraced her, have you not? Placed your hands on her skin?"

John swallows. It is not easy, to keep from bubbling over with enthusiasm, to share with Ruskin how being with Effie has opened his world, his eyes. "Yes, sir. I have."

Ruskin nods slowly. John wonders suddenly if Ruskin is plagued by the same worries as Effie. It seems silly; congress between men and women must surely be well-documented, and yet if Ruskin has never - if to Ruskin, the very idea is repulsive -

"It seems to make her very happy, sir," John says. "And I do not mind." An understatement, but for the sake of art, of sparing a great man's feelings.

"That is good. I am happy to hear it," Ruskin says. "I would not wish for my wife to be unhappy."

John nods, pleased. His heart aches a bit, still, to be unable to do more.

"Of course, in a few weeks, she may no longer be my wife," Ruskin says. "I shall be free of her, then, and she of me."

 _Nobody could wish to be free of you,_ John thinks. "Yes, sir."

Ruskin smiles at him: the sun setting the heavens aflame in glory and beauty. "Now. Let us speak of the matter of Effie no more. Instead, tell me of your latest project."

"Gladly, sir," John says, not pointing out that kisses and embraces are hardly conducive to conversation.


End file.
